Treading Water
by Blair.1907
Summary: /Rochu, Sino-Soviet fic/ China needs to forge a stronger lifestyle, and abandon the past. What better way to do so, then to join his neighbour for a little swim?


**I Do not own Hetalia.**

**Summary: One things often leads to another, as does treading water to drowning. A short oneshot written from the point of view of China, and his plummet into Communism.**

**AN:**

**Hope you guys ejnoy! I really appreciate reviews, even if I don't reply to all of them! They are much loved. I do not use spellcheck so please leave constructive critism behind if you may! I love learning how to improve my grammar and such. **

**-Sunny**

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><p><strong>Treading Water<strong>

**.**

**.**

"Come in."

China remains rooted to the deck, a white towel securely tied around his waste, leaving no room for imagination. His black hair falls right past his shoulders, unrestrained by its customary hair tie. His eyes are closed against the soft moonlight.

"Come in."

Russia repeats, he extends a long arm towards the other on land. It is more or less out of habit, because both are aware that such a gesture is fruitless against the older nation. Perhaps a few millenniums ago, China would have lunged straight for the welcoming hand. Now, the smaller man simply purses his lips into a thinner (if possible) line than before.

No more words are exchanged. Russia treads the waters lethargically. China notices a thick, blonde eyebrow raised in his direction, but decides it best to be ignored.

"China, will you come in please?"

China almost smiles. Almost. He does not, however, instead narrowing his eyes until they are barely slits against his pale face. He feels his cheek muscle twitch from the frigid breeze caressing his bare skin.

The water looks clean, China believes. He also believes how deceiving the darkness of night can be, like a dark silk shawl cloaking the most undesired of things. A dark, silk shawl playing with his vision, and presenting to him a seemingly innocent Russia with large indigo eyes and a lucid smile.

But China knows better.

Seconds pass, turned to minutes. China stands stone still, and the only part of him moving is his reflections in the rippling water.

_"China, will you come in please?"_

_China opens his eyes. He smells pine needles, and tea. Jasmine-green tea, he thinks. It smells nice, and his stomach twists violently. _

_He hears the sliding of a rickety bamboo door, as it opens. He hears a gentle clacking of wooden sandals against the ground, as if they are nursing earth. Too gentle. They draw closer to him._

_He sees a white figure, blurred in the night, advancing towards him. It extends its hand to him, and he reaches for it. 'No!' China thinks to himself. 'Don't touch the hand!' But he does anyways, and is pulled towards the light. Towards an open door, towards a heated room with hard wooden floorboards and scented with Jasmine-green tea._

_And then he feels it._

_At first, it is a little sting across his back. He does not know what it is, only that he is falling forwards, and falling fast. He anticipates the ground to pummel against his palms, and when it does not come, a panic arises in his chest. Then the stinging becomes a burning, becomes a searing. His back is on fire, China thinks, as he topples deeper and deeper into an endless fall. A feral yelp ravages his throat, and he smells copper thick in the air._

It is cold.

China is freezing, trembling. He feels his teethe clattering against each other. Feels the night chill against his naked flesh. His towel is gone-where it has gone to, he does not know. Now, he is even more bare than before, a glow against the dark. Never once, he notices, has large indigo eyes left him.

"Yao, it is cold, da?" Russia asks. His voice is not the high lilting tenor it usually is. It is low and husky. It is the real deal, China realizes.

"Are you cold?"

China nods. His vision blurs as he lowers his head. The ground dances around in his eyes.

"If you come into the water, you won't be cold anymore, da."

China's foot takes a step closer, then another. _'Test the water'_ he tells himself. _'Test it.'_

"Would you like to join me?"

China stops. Slowly, painfully, he lifts his chin, until his gaze is even with the other nation. His neighbour regards him with the eyes of a child looking at a confections display. He shivers in repulsion. He hates those indigo eyes (those beautiful eyes). He has an urge to claw them out with his fingers. But he has no time for that-the stench of green tea and pine and bamboo and copper are already crawling back to him, and

HE

NEEDS

TO

WASH

THEM

**AWAY**

-so China tilts his head to the side, flashes a bright smile, and replies, "_I would love too_."

He does not test the water. Does not close his eyes. Does not take a breath before diving. Every one of his nerves are assaulted by the (red) water, rushing through his lungs, his mouth, and his ears. He keeps his eyes open, open and looking straight into Russia, whose hands (greedily) snatch him into an unrelenting embrace. China needs air, but that is the last thought on his mind. He is euphoric. The Jasmine, the tea, the pine, the pain...they are all gone. Washed away.

The copper, however, remains.

But China knows better.

He smiles into Russia's neck, while beating his legs against the sticky, lukewarm water.

It is better to drown himself, he thinks, than to fall for a second time.


End file.
